Shakespeare

Where the bee sucks, there suck I,
In a cowslip’s bell I lie,
There I couch when owls do cry,
On the bat’s back I do fly
After summer merrily.
Merrily, merrily, I shall live now
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

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What is this mess

O hey, hi my darling. I’m overocea & this is my journal. I’ve vowed to note my everyday inconsequence indefinitely, so that I can read it when I’m 80. I expect it to be hideously boring to anyone except an 80year old me.